


a rekindling, of sorts

by falooda



Category: Free!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falooda/pseuds/falooda
Summary: Asahi huffs at him. “What about you?”“I am happy,” Ikuya says, and only later realises he’d admitted this, freely.“Then I’m happy, too.” Asahi gestures around them when Ikuya raises an eyebrow at him, “How can I not be? Yakiniku, fancy lighting, you.”Ikuya so badly wants to believe that Asahi means it in the way Ikuya wants him to mean it.In which Ikuya wants and is wanted in return.
Relationships: Kirishima Ikuya/Shiina Asahi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	a rekindling, of sorts

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to kel without whom i would've never stepped into the pool of tears that is free! especially not in 2020 & to my imaginary fr! updates audience. this isn't about rin, im so sorry. i really am.
> 
> title is a refashioning of the oh hellos song a kindling, of sorts from their album boreas, which fully inspired this fic.

i.

The sky is blazing red when they say goodbye after the Invitational heats; there are far too many goodbyes to actually keep track of, so Ikuya tunes it out in favour of watching everyone, all his friends, his friends’ friends, and their friends laugh and joke around before parting ways to head home. It’s been a long day and tomorrow is even longer.

Asahi drops his hand around him in a quick, half-hearted hug and says goodbye loudly and directly into his ear. And then he hugs him proper and whispers it and Ikuya thinks maybe this time it’s more an apology than a sentiment so he pushes Asahi away and says firmly, “You have my number now.”

Ikuya has seen Asahi like this countless times—laughing, with the setting sun behind him. That hasn’t changed, not in six years and not, Ikuya will note later, in another six years.

They break off into little groups, happy and winded from adrenaline and the sheer joy of being in the presence of warm friendship. 

Asahi waves his phone at Ikuya. “Don’t be a stranger!”

Ikuya sticks his tongue out, like the mature adult he is. Asahi winks at him and turns around to beg his friend to give him a ride home. Haru and his friends have made their way to the exit already and it’s getting late enough that if he and Hiyori don't hurry soon, they won’t have time to order takeout from their favourite deli down the block from Ikuya’s apartment.

Hiyori doesn’t move.

“Hiyori?” Ikuya tugs at his sleeve.

“That guy,” Hiyori says, glassy-eyed, “He called me _Hiyo-chan._ ”

ii.

Asahi takes up the entire couch when they watch anything on the TV regardless of the fact that Ikuya’s on the couch with him.

Some things haven’t changed from when they were kids. Ikuya remembers waking up at sleepovers with Asahi squished against his side, unbearably warm, especially in the summer. He remembers walking home, bumping shoulders with Asahi the entire way. He remembers, just before things went south, one of the last couple of lunches at school before break, when Asahi had unceremoniously dumped his share of tomatoes into Ikuya’s lunch. How his hand had been warm when it brushed against his.

Some things have changed, of course, as things are wont to do.

Asahi’s shoulders are much broader now and he has no qualms about eating tomatoes, even if he still scrunches his nose up at them. And then: the sniffles.

Oh god, the sniffles. Those are new, Ikuya notes delightedly.

See, Asahi cries at things openly now but he won’t admit it until he starts sniffling. Case in point: they’re watching a drama tonight. The main character is on his knees, crying after his lost love. Case in point: Asahi is sniffling, and has been for the last ten minutes. Case in point:

“You’re crying,” Hiyori informs him with glee, emerging from the depths of the apartment, dressed suspiciously nice for a regular Thursday evening.

“And you’re not minding your own business!” Asahi says, his head on Ikuya’s lap like it belongs there.

Hiyori clicks his tongue and reaches for his coat, “Wait until the girl—” He’s cut off by a deadly accurate cushion to the face.

Sometimes, Ikuya thinks, Hiyori is too fond of mischief for his own good.

“Aren’t you staying for dinner?” he asks.

“Ah. I’m going out?”

“Who with?” Ikuya’s curious now. Hiyori hasn’t had a date in practically forever.

Hiyori shrugs. “Your brother’s in town. Any more questions or may I leave, detective?”

“Live your best life, Hiyo-chan.” Ikuya shrugs.

“And don’t do anything we wouldn’t!” Asahi yells after him.

Hiyori’s silence on the matter is enough reward for them, in the end. They finish up the episode with minimal crying on Asahi’s end. Ikuya refuses to eat on the couch, “I have a dining area for a reason,” he tells Asahi, not because he cares particularly that Asahi will ruin the expensive sofa cushion his mother had painstakingly embroidered, one for him and a matching one for Natsuya, which is on Ikuya’s other sofa cushion because Natsuya doesn’t own a house with a sofa. Or a house. It’s just a habit he’s developed from the dramas he’s been watching lately, where all the family sit down and tear up over their personal problems in long unspoken monologues over soup and fried chicken and steaming hot rice. Ikuya is fond of the sentiment. He likes eating with people he cares for, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. 

It’s fine either way because Asahi can always look past his pretences and right at the food.

Asahi sniffles (it’s so cute, Ikuya could cry but he doesn’t, on account of being a grown adult man) and asks to wash his face before they can sit down and eat their pizza dinner. It’s always pizza at Ikuya’s, grilled fish at Haru’s, some variation on curry at Makoto’s, Kisumi feeds them inedible garbage—Haru’s words, not his, and Asahi’s the only one who offers them actual food that has green bits in it that could constitute the fabled green leafy vegetables from the ye olde books of high school because his sister stocks him up every weekend. Hiyori doesn’t let them into his house anymore because of the time Kisumi and Asahi had set fire to his microwave. Even Ikuya is on thin ice.

“Can I sleep over?,” Asahi asks with his mouth full but it comes out garbled, a code language only Ikuya, with all his keen insight of Asahi-wrangling knowledge, can decipher.

“Sure.” They’ve had countless sleepovers in the last year of having rediscovered each other and a handful more when they were kids. This is by no means the weirdest request Asahi has made of him.

“Thanks,” Asahi mumbles, furrowing his brows in a way that meant he was thinking which was almost always bad news. And then he eats another slice and seemingly feels better about whatever’s on his mind.

They wash up in the kitchen and Ikuya lugs out the bedding for Asahi while he brushes his teeth with the extra brush Ikuya keeps around for when he’ll eventually throw out his current one. Asahi is broader than he used to be when they were younger, when they could switch shirts and not have it look weird or be uncomfortable, so Ikuya passes along a shirt that could only be his brother’s because there’s no way he’d wear something that says YOUNG & PRETTY. Asahi makes a face at it but he slips it on right there in the middle of the room.

“Uh,” Ikuya says intelligently.

Asahi crawls under the covers, the ones that smell like Ikuya because he’s extremely particular with the detergent he uses. Ikuya staunchly does not think about how next morning Asahi will go home, taking parts of Ikuya with him.

“Goodnight,” Ikuya says, a little more intelligently and gets into bed.

They’re quiet for a few breaths until Asahi whispers, “Hey, are you still awake?”

“Mhm, but I wouldn’t be if you stopped asking.”

Asahi scoffs and then asks in his normal voice a very normal thing, “Tell me a bedtime story.”

“Why—”

“I need more material. You know? The baby’s going to ask for a story every night and sometimes I help out and I need more stories. To help him sleep well,” he hastens to explain in a perfectly unconvincing lie.

Ikuya thinks for a second to call him out on it and decides against it. “Sure.”

And so he begins. 

_Once upon a time there was a mermaid. She had a lovely, peaceful, unchanging life in her underwater home. She had everything she could ask for: a loving older brother, a handful of trustworthy friends, a dream._

"What kind of dream?" Asahi asks.

"The kind I won’t tell you about if you don’t shut up," Ikuya responds.

_They swim up to the surface every so often to bask in the sun and stay clear of the shore. They beg the little mermaid to come up to the surface and look at the little boats that dot the waves, at the birds flying high above, at the twinkling lights that line the coast. Eventually, she gives in after her friend cajoles and coaxes and goads her into it._

Isn’t it beautiful, _her friend asks, not looking at the pale orange sunset._

It looks like fire, _the little mermaid admits, looking everywhere but at her friend._

It does, _her friend agrees._

_They spend hours watching the sky and the stars and when it’s time to go home, the little mermaid tells her friend: I have a dream._

Ikuya stops there for a second, aiming for a dramatic pause, when he hears soft snores from the pile of bedding. Asahi had fallen asleep.

“Goodnight, Asahi,” Ikuya whispers.

iii.

“You didn’t have to come,” Asahi was saying, pulling a face at Ikuya.

“I’m here now,” Ikuya shrugs. Asahi loves making a big deal out of anything he can get his hands on.

“It’s just the grocery store. I could’ve done it myself and met you later, this is so boring. Sorry.”

Ikuya knows. This is why he texts Hiyori for groceries so he doesn’t have to get any himself in the middle of the week. Hiyori’s domestic like that, much too good for his older brother to mooch off of while he’s here.

“It’s fine,” he says instead, “I’m here so you don’t accidentally lose yourself while buying carrots.”

“Whatever,” Asahi scoffs, scowling at him. “Come on, then. We have to buy tofu.”

Between the two of them, they fill up the cart with the ingredients on the list Asahi's been handed; blocks of beef and pork, daikon and garlic and fresh green beans, a mountain of green leaves. Somewhere along the tedious process of locating the milk, they make a game of it: whoever finds their assigned item first, wins.

“Whew,” Asahi says, holding up the bags so Ikuya doesn’t have to carry any. Asahi will insist to death on carrying them alone, so Ikuya doesn’t ask to help, either. It’s just how Asahi is, stubbornly considerate. “I forgot something, wait here.”

So Ikuya waits with the inconspicuous white lie.

“Here,” Asahi offers. It’s pistachio coffee, in one of those dainty cans they’d passed by while looking for brand-specific miso. “Can’t believe you found the lemongrass before me. What even is a lemongrass?”

“A social construct, obviously,” Ikuya says, sipping his newfound victory.

“You’re so full of shit,” Asahi informs him.

They deliver the bags to their destination and after, Ikuya suggests they watch a movie and they flip a coin to decide between _Life of a Mouse: Third Time’s the Charm_ and literally anything that doesn’t have the mouse as the lead actor. They lose the coin toss and decide to watch the third of the greatest Mouse films ever made anyway.

“That was the worst two hours of my life,” Asahi says with his head in his hands, once the credits start rolling.

“You seemed to be having a good time stealing my popcorn,” Ikuya points out, not really minding. Caramel popcorn isn’t nearly as nice without someone not-so sneakily trying to nab some.

“We’re friends and friends share their popcorn,” Asahi protests, “Besides, there’s no way you could’ve eaten all of that. Hiyori would’ve killed you.”

“Thank you, my saving grace.” Ikuya rolls his eyes, pulling Asahi along, “Let's go home.”

Asahi insists on walking Ikuya to the station and then stays with him until his train arrives, arguing the semantics of the ending and speculating whether or not there could be a fourth installment in the series.

Only once he’s home does Ikuya realise there is a second can of BOSS pistachio coffee in his jacket pocket. He holds it up to his face, trying not to let his smile split his face in half and failing miserably.

iv.

“You beat me again!” Asahi huffs, taking off his goggles. They’ve been meeting up for more unofficial swim practices lately because everyone else is seemingly busy with other things. Adulthood changes you, Asahi’s sister had told them when they’d told her why the two of them were alone this time, there are compromises you have to make to keep the things that matter to you most.

“It was close,” Ikuya offers, “One more round? Maybe the genius can beat me this time?”

“Shut up,” Asahi grumbles, putting on his goggles again. “If I lose you’re buying me dinner.”

“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner then? Are you an idiot?”

But Asahi’s already underwater, fully expecting to beat Ikuya this time. There’s no other way, Ikuya thinks, he's going to have to end this madness here and now.

“I hate you,” Asahi scowls, poking at his plate.

Ikuya smiles smugly, “You wanted yakiniku, stop complaining.”

It’s a fancier place than they usually frequent, complete with intricate murals along one wall and mood lighting. The kind of place they’d go to if there were enough of them to split the bill. Today, though, it’s just the two of them because Ikuya had caved in to the voice in his head agreeing to treating the two of them. _They’d earned it, after all,_ the voice said. _When else would they get such a chance again?_

And Natsuya’s credit card could handle a little bruising, if you asked Ikuya.

“That’s not what I meant! You always—” Asahi stops short when they’re served their drinks—a diet coke for Asahi and a pistachio-flavoured crime drink for Ikuya, as Asahi dubs it. Asahi always smiles unbidden like he’s happy at just existing in the moment. In his mind’s eye, Ikuya can trace the smile on Asahi’s face, end to end, bright and raw. Carelessly naked, spilling joy everywhere, at everyone he sees. It makes Ikuya a little mad, on the other side of his own guarded smile. But it’s mostly warmth, though, that feels when it’s turned on him, the full force of friendship on his person.

“Remember when you told me the story of the little mermaid the other night?” Asahi asks finally, draining the last of his coke.

“What about it?”

“How does it end? Does she make it to her dream?”

Ikuya hums, considering Asahi’s question. If he’d been asked a few years ago, he’d have replied with the tragedy verbatim from the book but he thinks, childishly, one should be allowed to make up their own stories to suit their own ends. So he says, “Yeah. She and her friend lived happily ever after.”

“Was her dream to live happily ever after?”

“Isn’t that everyone’s dream?”

Asahi huffs at him. “What about you?”

“I am happy,” Ikuya says, and only later realises he’d admitted this, freely.

“Then I’m happy, too.” Asahi gestures around them when Ikuya raises an eyebrow at him, “How can I not be? Yakiniku, fancy lighting, you.”

Ikuya so badly wants to believe that Asahi means it in the way Ikuya wants him to mean it.

Instead, he forces himself to stop thinking about it.

v.

Ikuya’s relieved to be back home. He’d missed everything, he thinks ruefully, slipping out from between the glass walls of Kichijoji station.

“Ikuya!” someone calls out and he’s not expecting anyone; Hiyori is at a lecture for a course he thinks he’s falling behind on and his brother is busy being lectured by their mother for not coming by to say hello if he was in the city again. “Ikuyaaaaa!”

His eyes widen just a fraction when he sees him. Asahi runs at him in full force and Ikuya’s slow to catch him when he’s swept up in a hug, the two of them almost falling over Ikuya’s duffel bag.

“Careful,” Ikuya scolds but it’s hard to be serious when Asahi’s grinning at him like he’s the best thing to ever happen to him. “Why are you here?”

“I came to get you!” he says proudly, “Natsuya-san told me you were coming back home from your swim meet today and I missed you so I stole Kisumi’s car.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ikuya tells him, still hugging him close. “I can’t believe Kisumi let you steal his car.”

Asahi ruffles his hair in just the way he knows it annoys Ikuya and chatters about all the things Ikuya had missed in the time he was gone as they walk to the car.

“Rin is in town, by the way,” he says, buckling his seatbelt.

“Wow,” Ikuya deadpans, “Reunion party.”

Asahi pokes his cheek and laughs when Ikuya tries to bite his finger. “We’ll do it one of these days when Rei and Nagisa and the others can come down to our little corner of hell.”

Ikuya nods, amused in spite of himself. The afternoon light is pretty, on the other side of the car and Asahi between the sun and himself, lit up red and gold. Ikuya watches until he feels himself turn red and then turns away, instead watching the familiar greenery lining the highway.

“I downloaded those episodes,” Asahi says, breaking the silence, “Remember the show we were watching? I think Hiyori gave me some spoilers but you can’t really tell with him. Tell me when you want to watch them, alright?”

As if Ikuya could watch them without him. They were on this journey together now, golden red sunset, the faint rattling as they drove over the bridge, the faint homely scent of the city. Ikuya hadn’t imagined there would come a day when someone in this world would look at him and think, _oh, let’s watch this endless romantic drama, let’s spend hours at the movies and critique fursuits, let’s eat out at places, just the two of us, let’s swim together._ Ikuya wants it to be Asahi, who records shows for them to watch, buys him canned drinks, who misses him, unbidden. Like Ikuya thinks of him.

He bites the inside of his cheek.

They stop just outside Ikuya’s apartment and Asahi helps unload his bag.

“I have to go now,” he says, finally, “We have practice.”

Ikuya nods. He’s tired and he doesn’t want Asahi to leave. “See you, then. Text me when you’re free.”

Asahi reaches out as if to take his hand but then decides against it. “See ya!” he yells instead and drives off.

Ikuya very much hopes he sees Asahi again soon.

“Welcome home!” Natsuya calls frome where he's draped over the couch like a slightly inexpensive blanket. “Mom wanted me to come pick you up for dinner.”

“Mhm,” Ikuya responds, flopping down on the couch next to his brother.

“What’s wrong?” Natsuya asks, struggling to sit up and hissing in pain when he pulls a muscle.

There’s nothing wrong, Ikuya thinks. He repeats the thought aloud.

Natsuya hugs him. They do this more often now, hugging, talking, being there for each other.

“Gotta speak your feelings aloud, kiddo, I can’t read your mind,” he says, pulling him up to his feet. “Shower time, then dinner. I can tell mom you’re too tired. We can visit for lunch.”

Ikuya nods. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Natsuya confirms, “Hiyori told me to watch this show, have you seen it?”

“Asahi and I were watching it. We haven’t finished it though.”

“Oh,” Natsuya says, soft, observant. “Are you going to finish it?”

“I hope so. Can we have pizza for dinner?”

“Anything for my darling little brother, who is being super unhealthy and gross and emotional right now.”

Ikuya throws a cushion at his head.

+i.

Asahi sings along to the song that’s blaring over the speakers. Calling it singing is charitable; it’s off-key and off-beat and far too close to Ikuya’s ears but he finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he’d thought.

The nightclub had been Kisumi's idea, like all bad ideas are. Asahi had agreed immediately and went around pleading with everyone until they’d reluctantly said yes, fine, we’ll come, turn that expression off, please.

Makoto had ducked out early, citing an exam he had to cram for, Rei and Nagisa had disappeared into the crowd somewhere around midnight, and while Ikuya could still see Rin trying to teach Haru a slow dance to a song completely unsuited for the purpose, he doesn’t think they care about anyone else in all the world.

“You’d think their world is two people large, they only see each other when they’re together,” Kisumi had said earlier, and Ikuya had pushed his face away in disgust. Kisumi had disappeared right after, leaving Ikuya with Asahi in their own two person world.

“I’m going to take a break,” Ikuya yells, thoroughly exhausted after moving his body in ways he didn’t think he could, not with the entire faceless population of Tokyo in this dinghy little nightclub. Natsuya would be mad, if he knew.

He leans against the wall further away from the music where he can hear himself think, wondering if he should go home soon. It’s definitely past a reasonable bedtime and he has practice late in the afternoon that he absolutely cannot skip. 

Someone bumps into him and he’s about to snap when, “It’s me, Ikuya, it’s me!”

It’s dim enough that Asahi’s face is still shrouded in flecks of neon light but not enough that Ikuya can’t cobble together the odd shapes that make up Shiina Asahi’s face—the fiery red hair, the slight upturn of the nose, the blinding smile.

He presses in close to Ikuya to let a few people pass by and Ikuya’s breath hitches. Asahi is burning hot where his skin touches his own, slick with sweat and adrenaline. Ikuya almost misses it when he moves away again.

They’re alone for a minute again when Asahi asks, voice horse and low, “Can I—” and then stops short as if he hasn’t been staring at Ikuya like he wants, so badly, just like Ikuya wants, equally badly. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

Ikuya hates it. “Don’t just stop like that. Don’t apologise.” He steps forward and Asahi takes a step back. “You always do this.” He takes another step forward, and another, and another, until Asahi’s back touches the opposite wall of the hallway.

“Sorry.” Asahi’s voice is quiet, pleading, lost under the pounding bass from around the corner.

Ikuya yanks on the collar of the shirt Asahi’s wearing, the one Ikuya had bought him for his birthday in their first year they’d found each other again. Ikuya had hardly believed he’d made use of it for four entire years. It makes him smile, unexpectedly, into another mouth.

Asahi’s mouth goes slack against his for a single wuthering moment before he brings up his hands, fingers trembling lightly against Ikuya’s face. There’s something about it that makes Ikuya keep going.

“Ikuya,” Asahi breathes out between kisses, but it comes out broken and unclear and Ikuya hears it just fine. “Wait. Wait, please.” An audible hitch in his throat that hangs in the air between them.

And Ikuya, who has never once listened to anyone but himself, doesn’t stop. He kisses Asahi, long and deep. It’s a little bit like swimming in the sea, Ikuya thinks in passing, pressing his tongue to Asahi’s teeth. If he’s not careful, the tide could take him under.

Asahi forces them apart, breathing heavy and holding Ikuya close.

“Time to leave,” Ikuya finds himself saying and drags them both out into the quiet night.

“Stop!” Asahi sounds annoyed but it doesn’t match the smile on his face, “I was going to confess to you!”

“In the shitty hallway in the back of a nightclub?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t I deserve better?”

“...Yeah.”

Ikuya hums, reaching for Asahi’s hands. “Buy me dinner.”

“At the yakiniku place?”

“If that’s what makes you happy.”

“It makes me happy when you’re happy,” Asahi admits quietly, furiously blushing even as he brings Ikuya’s hand up to kiss his knuckles one by one.

It strikes Ikuya then that this is equal parts familiar and novel, to have and to hold Asahi like always but now with the added reassurance that he will be held in return.

“Hey, can you, um. Say something.” Asahi’s fingers curl and uncurl around Ikuya’s.

“You like me,” Ikuya says simply, stating the obvious.

“I like you,” Asahi grins, small and precious. And then he sniffles. “Hey, you like me too!”

“I like you too,” Ikuya parrots back, laughing, and—

He pulls Asahi closer and meets him halfway for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Some Notes:
> 
> \- DOES BOSS MAKE PISTACHIO COFFEE no sorry to lead you on (: if they do they're required to send me a box for giving them the idea. the can looks like the Premium BOSS the Latte if you were wondering.  
> \- what kdrama are asaiku watching? a product of my own direction. im famous in this bit of canon thanks for asking!  
> \- after they confess and be cute right outside the nightclub at 3 am they go home and watch the rest of the show. asahi falls asleep on ikuya halfway through the second to last episode. natsuya finds them like that in the morning and takes lost of blackmail pictures for hiyori.  
> \- ty for coming to my tedtalk find me on twitter @floralsonnets for more!


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